


How to Hide Your Top Secret Friends (When You've Got a New Boyfriend)

by desert_neon (sproutgirl)



Series: Looking In From the Outside [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, M/M, POV Outsider, Sequel, how to be friends with an Avenger and keep it a secret, secret friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sproutgirl/pseuds/desert_neon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kelly Cooper is beautiful, strong, and talented.  She also has things in her past she doesn't like to talk about.  Jason can respect that.  It's not like he <i>needs</i> to know how she got that scar, or where she trained in self-defense.  Or even why she seems so invested in the lives of the Avengers.  He's content to let her keep her secrets; he has no right to pry.</p>
<p>Until one day he finally gets all the answers.  And they honestly aren't anything he could have guessed.</p>
<p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1136756">The Cellist and The Archer (and The Man They Loved)</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Hide Your Top Secret Friends (When You've Got a New Boyfriend)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. Okay. I know there will probably only be, like, four people who read this. That's okay. And if I'm wrong, well yay! The more the merrier! But let me warn you, oh ye who have clicked to see the summary, this fic is pretty much self-indulgence. It furthers the adventures of The Cellist, Kelly Cooper, who was introduced in [The Cellist and The Archer (and The Man They Loved)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1136756). This will make no sense if you haven't read that.
> 
> Also (and I warn you now) this fic _barely_ contains any of the characters we know and love. Clint is most heavily featured, but even then it's over the phone and/or through a third party. Both Clint and Phil show up near the end, so they _do_ appear, it's just going to take a while.
> 
> This is an outsider's POV. If all these notes haven't scared you off, please, do continue! I very much hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> Oh! There will be a third part to this series. It's half-written, and it is _all_ Clint and Coulson. It will be totally understandable without this story though, so don't feel you have to read this one to follow the plot.

The first time Kelly caught Jason’s attention, she had just thrown a two hundred and twenty pound man over her shoulder. It wasn’t even that, so much, that piqued his interest. He’d been enrolled in enough martial arts and self-defense classes over the years to know that women were perfectly capable of such feats, no matter their size. No, it was the way she had tumbled down herself during the move, only to come back up in an extremely graceful and dangerous looking crouch, one leg extended to the side. Her face was set — determined — almost a challenge to any who might dare advance.

Well, that and the fact that the guy she had just taken out was their instructor, a man who did not believe in pulling punches or taking it easy on his students. Clearly their new classmate was a force to be reckoned with.

“So I have to ask,” he said after class, once he’d offered his name and his hand. “Where’d you learn that move?”

“Which move?” she asked, which was more than fair. She’d pulled out several impressive maneuvers during the class.

“Uh, the crouch? After you took Master Quinzi down?”

She flashed him a grin and wiped at her brow with a towel. “I have a couple friends who are really good. They got me started.”

She didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. After several dates (in which she sidestepped the question so neatly he hardly even realized he was being redirected) he learned to stop asking.

 

_________

 

“Captain America?” Jason asked the first time he was allowed into Kelly’s apartment.

“It was a friend’s,” she said from the kitchen, where she was getting coffee started. Her voice sounded a little tight, and he turned away from the framed poster to face her across the open floor plan.

“I wasn’t mocking,” he said, careful to temper his tone. He had been amused, definitely, but he hadn’t been poking fun. “You just don’t seem the type to hero-worship.”

She turned away and got mugs from the cupboard. “I’m not. I like the Avengers. I think they do a lot of good, even when they aren’t fighting. But I’m not a fangirl or anything. Like I said, it was a friend’s.”

He squinted at the poster, particularly the scrawl at the bottom. “Is it vintage?”

“Yeah.”

“And the signature?” he asked, turning back to her. “Is that old Captain America or new?”

She shrugged, but her shoulders were tight. “It was like that when I got it. Cream, no sugar, right?”

“Right.”

 

_________

 

“I thought you said you weren’t a fan,” Jason said a week later, once he’d made it past the front of her apartment and into the sanctity of her bedroom. He was very careful with his tone, not accusing, and not mocking. Just curious.

“What?”

He pointed to the low bookcase beneath her window. The top shelf held a mishmash of CDs and books and knickknacks, and two action figures in a place of prominence. The female figure had a distinct head of red hair, and was posed in profile, down on one knee, looking for all the world like she was ready for action. The male figure was standing tall at her back, covering her, his little plastic bow held at the ready.

Kelly grinned, unrepentant. “Well, maybe I’m a little bit of a fan,” she allowed. “But definitely not in the crazy, stalkery way some people get.”

“How come you don’t have a Captain America figure? To go with the poster?”

Her bare shoulder brushed against his as she shrugged. “He’s not my favorite.”

“Black Widow and Hawkeye are?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She thought about that for a moment. “They’re just people,” she finally answered. “The others all have some sort of advantage. Superpowers or superbrains and enough money to build an indestructible flying suit of armor. Hawkeye and Black Widow are just regular people who work hard and decided to use their skills to fight for the world. They’re just . . . good people.”

Her earnestness was endearing, and Jason couldn’t help but kiss her.

 

_________

 

“Ow, fuck!”

“You okay?” Kelly called from the bedroom.

“Yeah. Just. Stubbed my toe on the foot of the couch.” Jason sat to examine the damage, surprised to find that he was bleeding. He must have somehow caught the nail, because it was ripped back, blood collecting underneath. “Do you have any Band-Aids?” He didn’t want to stain her carpet.

“Of course. Hang on a sec.”

She appeared a moment later, a clearly labeled (and rather large) first-aid box in her hand. She handed it to him and he flipped the lid open, surprised at the organized and frighteningly complete scope of supplies he found within. “Wow,” he heard himself say.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just. You’re, like, Boy Scout levels of prepared.”

She gave a little laugh. “You never know,” she said lightly. “It never hurts to be ready for whatever might happen.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and wondered if her level of preparedness had anything to do with the fading scar on her leg.

 

_________

 

“Jason, I’m sorry, hang on a sec?” Kelly asked with a hand on his arm. He nodded, but she was already leaning over the bar, asking the bartender to turn up the television.

Jason turned to see the screen, somehow unsurprised to see shots of Captain America throwing his shield around. The dozens of cat-sized flying robots were a bit of a shock, however. They were in San Francisco, which the cameramen seemed to love, if the number of shots of Iron Man buzzing the Golden Gate Bridge were any indication.

The whole bar watched in silence, and Jason got up to move to Kelly’s side rather than sit with his back to her. She took his hand in thanks, her grip tightening when a well-timed arrow blew up a drone that had been descending on Black Widow. The woman on the screen back-flipped away from the explosion, and the camera shifted back to Captain America, who was clearly issuing orders in the midst of the battle.

“Come on, Cap,” Kelly muttered. “Do good.”

“‘Cap?’” Jason couldn’t help but ask.

Kelly flushed some, but didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “I have a friend who calls him that. I guess I picked it up.”

Jason smiled and squeezed her hand, amused. He stayed next to her for the entire fight, drawing a barstool up to her side after a short while. It only took about forty minutes for the whole thing to end, everyone in the bar clapping their relief. Jason didn’t move from Kelly’s side. As people began to talk again, as the bar filled up with chatter and the sounds of drinks being poured and the nervous laughter brought on by the release of tension, Kelly’s eyes never strayed from the television set.

Now that the action had stopped, the reporter on the scene was once again the focus of the frame. But every so often the camera would pan, or an Avenger would walk into its line of sight, and Kelly watched and watched, clearly seeking. Eventually there was a group shot, all of them in a loose circle at the back of one of the many black vans scattered about the scene. There was a soft exhale next to him, and Jason could feel the stress bleed out from Kelly’s shoulders.

“Everyone’s okay then?” he asked, and she still didn’t look away from the screen.

“Looks like.” Only when the news agency cut away from live shots to go back to the studio did she finally turn her head. “Sorry. I just—”

He cut her off by standing and pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s fine,” he assured her. He might not have understood why she cared so much about the well-being of people she didn’t know, but it was clearly important to her. He would not diminish that fact by mocking her, nor by being upset at the interruption. “So. Dinner?”

 

_________

 

Kelly laughed as she rose from the floor at Master Quinzi’s invitation. The student she’d been chosen to spar with, a newcomer named Charlie, laughed in return, though his had an edge to it. Jason bristled immediately, but said nothing. She was more than capable of handling herself, and chances were she’d wipe that smirk right off his face. The rest of the class shifted around the perimeter of the ring, clearly thinking the same thing.

They started by sizing each other up, Kelly carefully shifting her weight on the balls of her feet. If Charlie had had any sense, he’d have recognized the stance for what it was: a readiness to dodge his attack, and to swing back around to go on the offensive herself. But apparently Charlie was not that observant, or maybe he was just cocky, and when she brought him down to the mat less than three minutes later, he had the gall to cry, “Illegal move!”

“No such thing,” she replied, grinning again.

“This is a self-defense class,” Quinzi said from his place on the sidelines, “not formal martial arts training. We don’t discourage any form of fighting on the mat. If you can use it to protect yourself out there, you can use it in here.” He smiled at Kelly, then transferred it to Charlie, its edges going sharp. “I do hope you’re wearing a protective cup. Kelly is not known for her restraint.”

The other students tittered, all of them well aware of her moves, even if no one knew where she had learned them. None of the local houses or dojos taught such an eclectic mix of styles, and Quinzi’s was the only one to encourage the no-holds-barred attitude. It was, she had confessed to him once, the reason she’d switched from her old gym.

“It’s no good learning form and style if you can’t also go for a guy’s balls,” she’d said, and Jason had laughed at her terminology. She was never so crude out of the ring, and it made him wonder yet again about the friends who’d begun her training. “Plus,” she’d added with a grin. “It’s just more fun.”

 

_________

 

“Who is that?” Jason asked, peering over Kelly’s shoulder at her phone. There was an image on the screen, which was turned sideways for a full view. “How did you get a picture of Black Widow and Captain America, uh, building a house of cards?”

She quickly locked the screen, blacking out the picture. “A friend sent it to me.”

“I thought pictures from inside their tower were extremely rare.”

“I don’t know,” she argued. “It must have leaked somehow. It does happen, sometimes.”

“Yeah, until Stark or the secret agent guys try to wipe all trace of it off the net.”

“But not off people’s hard drives. Once it’s out there, it’s out there. And then the fans all send it to each other.”

He thought it was cute how defensive she was, and how hard she tried not to include herself in “the fans.” Her phone trilled in her hand, causing her to startle, and Jason couldn’t help but glance at the screen along with her.

 

_Can you believe this shit? Every modern entertainment possible at their command, and this is what they’re doing. You know it was Cap’s idea._

 

Well then. The mysterious “Cap” friend. Jason flicked his eyes up, to see who had sent the message, but by then the screen was blank, and Kelly was looking at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow up.

“It’s not nice to spy.” Her voice was half amused though, and he knew he wasn’t in too much trouble.

Still, he backed away, hands in the air and a grin on his lips, but not before dropping a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll just check on the chicken, shall I?”

“You do that.”

When he looked back to the couch, she was typing something in response, her thumbs flying over the screen. A minute later he heard the text notification again, and she giggled in amusement. Jason smothered his own laugh into his shoulder, and started chopping up some carrots.

 

_________

 

“Will you tell me about this?” Jason asked quietly, lightly tracing his fingertips along the line of her scar.

Kelly said nothing for a long moment, but she didn’t pull away either. Jason chanced a glance up at her, and didn’t know what to make of the expression on her face. There was sadness there, and affection. Maybe even a little fear. But she gave him a nod, her jaw set, and he bent his head to set his lips to skin, following the trail his fingers had made. She took a breath, and tugged at his hair, encouraging him to move up the bed.

“When I lived in New York, I was dating this guy. Phil. Well, more than dating. At one point, I was kind of thinking he’d be it, you know?”

Jason nodded, already not liking where the story was headed. Not because she’d had a serious relationship; they were both too old to pretend there hadn’t been anyone significant in their lives. But because she had a scar, and a story that started with a boyfriend, and Jason had seen far too many of those tales before. Women who needed shelter, kids he had to pull from homes, whose mothers looked just as traumatized as their children, but unable to speak or act for themselves.

“Stop thinking,” Kelly said suddenly. “I know where your social worker brain is going, and don’t okay? It’s not that kind of story.”

“Okay,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Sorry.”

She let him thread their fingers together, and shook her head a little. “No, I’m sorry. I just. I don’t want you thinking that about Phil. He was a good man. He would never have hurt me.”

“So what happened?” he asked, instead of apologizing again.

“Phil was a G-man,” Kelly said with a smile. “FBI. And one of his cases . . . Well, let’s just say it came a little too close to home.”

Jason sat up then, looking down at her in surprise. “They got to you?”

She nodded. “They broke in to my apartment. Tied me to a chair, the works.”

“God.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t fun.”

He was sure he had an incredulous look on is face. _Wasn’t fun._ What the hell kind of understatement was that? “What . . . I mean, how . . . Actually, okay, I have no idea what I mean. Please continue.”

“I struggled some, when they were trying to attach me to the chair. They took objection to that, and one of them had a knife, so.” She gestured down to her leg. “Voila.”

He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “And did Phil come to save the day? Or did you kick ass and do it yourself?”

“I didn’t really start training until after that. I mean, I had learned some moves from one of his agents, but nothing serious. Nothing that could have gotten me out of that.”

“One of his agents?”

“He was . . . a supervisory agent. Like a handler. He was friends with some of his people. My friend Clint?” she asked, looking at him for recognition. He nodded, knowing the name, associating it with _New York_ , and _Kelly’s film favorites_ , and _gay_. “He was one of Phil’s. And his best friend. He was the one who came for me, actually. Phil was away. Out of the area on an assignment.”

“He sent Clint.”

“He sent Clint. Who killed the men in my apartment, got us out, and then killed some more guys who tried to chase us down. I passed out in the car, and woke up in the hospital a while later. By the time I was discharged, Phil had come home, and he and his people had wrapped everything up. I’m not, uh. I’m not clear on the details of who they were or why they came after me, so much, other than as revenge on Phil for some past case.”

“How can you not know?” he asked, trying not to sound harsh. “I’d want to know everything about why something like that happened.”

“Yeah. I did want to know. But there was some kind of clearance level on it? I don’t know. We fought about it. Eventually I let it go. He couldn’t tell me, and he wasn’t going to break protocol. He wasn’t the type.”

“I didn’t know the FBI had clearance levels and protocols and such.”

She shrugged, reaching down to the blanket, her gaze focused on the task as she disentangled it from the sheet. “Apparently they do.” Finally getting the covers smooth again, she leaned back against his chest and he wrapped an arm around her. “Anyway, that was kind of the beginning of the end. He got sent on some out of town assignments, and I couldn’t handle the not knowing, and the worry. I was constantly afraid I was going to get the call . . .” She paused for a moment, and he heard her swallow roughly. “We broke up. I moved back here. And a few months later, I got the call anyway.”

“Jesus.” He kissed her hair, hoping to comfort. “He died?”

Her hand tightened in his as she nodded. “Clint called me, a few days after it happened. But I kind of already knew.”

“Psychic connection?” he teased gently, and felt her shoulders move as she breathed a small laugh.

“No.” There was clear hesitation on her part, and he let her think for a moment, allowing her to choose her words, and how much she wanted to share. “It was . . . Phil was a hero, you know? Such a goddamn hero. And there’s no way he ever would have just let New York burn. Not without trying to help.”

Jason actually felt his heart speed up. New York. _New York_. Where countless police, firemen, and paramedics had lost their lives trying to save civilians. And from where there had been reports of off-duty first responders doing the same: cops and EMTs and firefighters, and now, apparently, at least one FBI agent. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, just held her close and buried his nose in her hair.

“When I didn’t hear from him, well. I knew. He wouldn’t have left me to worry like that. He knew I still cared.”

“Fuck.” His voice was rough and low, and he ached for her. “No wonder you love the Avengers so much.”

She gave a small hum, not committing to anything. The smile he pressed to her scalp was small and sad. Finally she admitted, “They would have saved him, if they could have.”

Jason honestly wasn’t so sure about that. One life against millions? Or billions, even, if the aliens had won. But if she needed to believe that, he certainly wasn’t going to take it away from her. “I’m sure they would have.”

“They _would_ have,” she reiterated, clearly hearing some doubt. “If it had been at all feasible, if he hadn’t been so _stupid_ . . .”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said then, soothing and low. “I’m so sorry.”

She let him hold her for a while, neither of them speaking. “He was a good guy,” she said eventually, and he heard the unshed tears in her throat.

“I’m sure he was.”

“No, I just mean . . .” She turned in his arms. “I’m sad because he’s gone, because we lost a good man. I’m sad for his friends, and I’m sad for the future he didn’t get to have. I’m not— I don’t grieve for me. It’s not like, if he’d lived, we’d have reconnected. He loved his job, and I would never have asked him to leave it. I don’t want you to think, you know.”

“That the only reason I’m here is because he isn’t?”

Her eyes slid away, but she gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”

“I don’t. Sweetheart, I honestly don’t. I know you loved him, and that’s fine. It’s okay to still love him. I know you love me too.”

“I do still love him. But not in the way I used to. I would have liked to have been his friend, I think. I would have been interested to see how his life turned out, and if he would have ever . . . Well. If he would have found the person he was meant to be with.”

“I’m sorry for that person too, then. Whoever she might have been.”

He felt her still against him, pausing at his words. But, after just a moment, she agreed with a quiet, “Yeah,” and shifted in his arms, scooting down the bed to lay her head on his pillow. He went with her and kissed her shoulder, recognizing the end of the conversation.

 

_________

 

The only reason Jason answered Kelly’s cell phone was because he saw the name displayed on the screen. Clint had been out of contact for a few weeks, sent away on some kind of assignment, and Kelly had been worried.

“Kelly’s phone, Jason speaking.”

There was the slightest of pauses, then, “Hi, Jason. Nice to put a voice to the face.”

“You’ve never seen my face.” The slight protest was startled out of him, said before he could think of a more appropriate or witty reply.

“Slaski, if you think I didn’t run a _very_ thorough check on you months ago, you are not as smart as reported.”

Jason held back a laugh at that. He should probably be upset about the breach of his privacy, but he understood the instinct to protect loved ones. Even the ones who wouldn’t thank you for the protection. “Does Kelly know that?”

“Shit.” There was silence for a second or two, and Jason waited while Clint assessed just how much trouble he was in. “Don’t tell her?”

The laugh broke loose then, and Jason assured Clint that he wouldn’t. “She went to bed with a headache a little while ago. You want me to get her?”

“Nah, don’t wake her. Just, when she gets up, let her know I’m home?”

“Of course. And you’re okay?”

“Sure.” The reply was too swift to be anything other than a lie.

“Clint.” Jason put his best social worker voice on, trying to radiate concern and authority.

“Fuck,” Clint said with a rueful chuckle. “Trust Kell to pick a guy who . . . Yeah. I’m okay. A mild concussion, but not even bad enough to be kept by the docs. Tell her my, uh, roommates are taking care of me. I’ll be fine.”

The small hitches in Clint’s speech made Jason wonder what the stories were: what he’d done to catch Clint’s attention like that (he assumed it was some kind of comparison to Phil), and what the hidden meaning behind “roommates” might be. But he didn’t ask. “Will do. She’ll probably call you when she’s feeling better. It’s always better to hear directly from the source.”

“No kidding. Well, I’m not going anywhere for a few days at least, so. Thanks for passing on the message.”

“Not a problem. Nice to sort of kind of meet you, Clint.”

“Yeah. You too.” The agent said an awkward goodbye, and hung up.

Jason put the phone down, decided he rather liked Clint, and went to check on Kelly.

 

_________

 

Yawning, Jason made his way out of the bedroom, lured by the sharpness of Kelly’s voice. Whatever conversation she was having, she wasn’t happy.

“It’s the _sensationalism_ of it that’s pissing me off,” she was saying as he moved down the hallway. There was a pause, and she added, softer, “Well, yes, of course. The invasion of privacy too. I just— Oh, Jason’s up.” She offered him a smile and tilted her head away from her phone for the quick kiss he gave her over the arm of the couch.

“What’s going on?” he asked, curious but also thinking about coffee.

She pointed mutely at his laptop, and the look on her face chased all thoughts of caffeine from his brain. He decided to sit instead, moving the computer to settle in next to her and place it on his thighs, bringing the screen back to life.

There were several internet tabs open, all of them news or gossip sites, some more reputable than others. The page currently showing had a headline that made Jason raise his eyebrows in surprise, though it certainly went a long way to explaining Kelly’s ire.

 

**HAWKEYE SEEKS HOT GUY?**

 

Jason honestly wasn’t sure what the accompanying picture had to do with anything. It was simply a paparazzo shot of Hawkeye, carrying a cup of coffee and wearing sunglasses. He could see how some (opinionated, stereotyping) people might read the outfit he had on (tight jeans and some kind of torso-hugging, sleeveless workout shirt) as “gay,” but honestly, the man just looked like he needed some coffee. And really, Jason could sympathize.

“Yeah, I _know_ ,” Kelly said as Jason scrolled past the picture and started reading. “That’s not the point. I don’t care if some of them are pretending to be supportive. They’re still reporting it and that’s not fair. It’s no one’s goddamn business if—” She paused, and Jason could hear the low rumble of a male voice. She breathed deeply a few times, clearly collecting herself. “I know, I know. I just . . . It’s not fair. Who the hell even gave them the story anyway?”

 _Sources close to the Avengers_ , was all the article said. Which Jason chose to read as: _Take everything we’ve written with a large grain of salt_. If the so-called sources had actually been affiliated with the superheroes, the tabloids and news agencies would have had a lot more to print than the archer’s sexual orientation. Like the man’s name.

 

_Hawkeye, whose real identity remains a mystery (though rumors persist that his last name is Barton, speculations spurred on by Tony Stark, who has been heard to call out to the mysterious bowman by that moniker. But, Stark being Stark, that could very well just be a bid to annoy, either Hawkeye himself, or the press) was seen out and about last night in the company of another man. “It seemed very date-like,” reports one eyewitness. “Just the two of them at dinner, with lots of getting-to-know-you conversation.”_

 

Jason snorted in disbelief and switched to another web page, which didn’t seem to have anything concrete either. Honestly, the man might have been gay. He might have been straight. He might have been bisexual or pansexual or asexual. But Jason wasn’t about to take the word of some flimsy reporting and nameless witnesses and sources. Furthermore, it wasn’t his business. It wasn’t anybody’s business, other than Hawkeye’s and maybe whomever he was dating, if he was dating anyone at all.

He caught Kelly looking at him in approval, and he gave her a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “Well, if it’s true — and I’m not saying it is, because this is really shoddy reporting — but _if_ it’s true, you’ll have to take him off your freebie list. No sense having a spot taken up by someone if it’s never going to happen.”

Kelly’s expression immediately shifted into horrified shock. “Hawkeye is _not_ on my freebie list,” she contested hotly, and loud, joyous laughter burst out from her phone. “Oh, shut up, Clint,” she groused, but the laughter didn’t cease. “No, seriously, I’m glad you’re laughing, but it’s not _that_ funny.”

The look she flashed Jason was all blame, and he shrugged. It had seemed like a fair enough guess. “Who is then?” he asked, because they’d never had this particular conversation. She wasn’t the type to fawn over celebrities, other than her favorite superhero team (and even that seemed to be less idolization and more actual caring), and he found he had no idea who she might include.

“I don’t know.” Her focus shifted; the laughter had stopped and the low rumble of Clint’s voice quietly sounded instead. “He wants to know who is on my list, if not Hawkeye.” She was smiling as Clint spoke again, so as a topic change, Jason clearly hadn’t done too poorly after all. “Why him?” she asked after a moment, then rolled her eyes. “That’s why _you_ like him. Don’t project.”

“Who?” Jason asked, not bothering to curtail his curiosity.

“Daniel Craig. Clint says he has nice eyes and looks good in a suit, but I think it’s because _someone_ has a thing for secret agents.”

The resultant squawk of indignation carried clearly. Jason laughed and put the laptop aside, getting up. Coffee was calling his name.

 

_________

 

Kelly was on the phone when Jason came home, Chinese food menu in hand. He took one look at that, and at the way she kept tapping her debit card on the kitchen counter, and he quickly dropped his work files on the closest surface before making his way straight to her. “Kelly? What’s happened?”

She shook her head, then confirmed the order, reading off her card number and expiration date. “Okay, thank you.” She hung up and put the phone down, then turned into him, seeking.

He wrapped his arms around her, running possibilities through his head. There had been some kind of Avengers action in New York a few hours ago. He’d scanned the headlines after, and everyone had seemed to be okay. But maybe there had been a development?

Or Clint. It could be Clint. It had been a while since he’d been in touch, and Kelly worried.

Maybe her family? Her mom was certainly healthy enough, but her dad was starting to feel his age. Heart problems, weight problems, and a general cantankerousness that meant he refused to deal with either issue.

Jason kissed her hair and held her close, rubbing small circles on her back. “Is everyone alive and healthy?” he asked when the silence proved too much for him.

She actually breathed a giggle into his shoulder, and he couldn’t tell if there was a note of hysteria in it or not. But she lifted her head and met his eyes, and her smile was genuine, if tired. “Yes. Everyone’s alive. More so than I even thought possible.”

Jason took a second to think that through, then gave a slight shake of his head. “I don’t think I can decipher that sentence.”

Kelly pulled away, still smiling, and took his hand, leading him to the table. “Sit,” she commanded. “There’s some stuff I need to tell you.”

Jason sat. He sat and he listened and he tried very, very hard to suspend his disbelief.

“So your dead ex-boyfriend,” he eventually said, trying to wrap his head around it, “who worked for the FBI, is neither dead nor working for the FBI.”

“Right. Though to be fair, I knew he wasn’t FBI when I was dating him. I just didn’t know he was SHIELD.”

“SHIELD. As in the guys who run around after the Avengers?”

“Uh, yeah, about that.”

“Oh, Jesus, what?” Jason asked.

“Clint is, you know. Clint Barton. Hawkeye.”

Jason dropped his forehead to the table. He felt Kelly’s fingers run soothingly through his hair. “So Clint Barton is Hawkeye, and he’s in love with your ex-boyfriend, who is now _his_ boyfriend and also his ex-handler, and isn’t actually dead.”

“That pretty much sums it up.”

“Okay. But how?” He raised his head, and her hand fell away. “I mean, how is he not dead? Was he hiding? Injured? Was he in a coma or something? I just—”

Kelly cut him off with a shake of her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know yet. Phil said—” A knock sounded and she stood, grabbing her debit card and heading for the front door.

Jason waited, confused and a little at sea, his eyes randomly staring at the far wall as he thought, as he tried to put all the pieces together. A doomed task, he knew. He didn’t even _have_ all the pieces. He likely never would.

The rustling of bags brought his focus back, and he realized somewhat dazedly that he hadn’t been looking at the wall, really. His eyes had been on the framed poster by the window. He stood and walked over to it, reading the inscription he already knew by heart. “Captain America signed this,” he said when he’d heard the door close. “For Phil. Phil was — is — the ‘good man.’”

“Yes,” Kelly said simply, and he turned to see her unpacking the takeout boxes.

“Captain America,” he said again, moving back to the kitchen as things started to finally align inside his brain. “‘Cap.’ Your friend who calls him ‘Cap.’ It’s Clint, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Though to be fair he does also call him Steve.”

“And the pictures you have. They aren’t passed around through the fans.”

“No. And they never will be.”

Jason moved to the cupboard and got out some plates, because he quite frankly didn’t know what else to do. He handed them to her, then retrieved the silverware and a couple of glasses. “Shit,” he said suddenly, remembering her first secret, the one that had intrigued him from the beginning. “You trained with him. You trained with Hawkeye.”

She grinned down at the food, concentrating on dishing out the portions. “Not just Hawkeye.” Pausing in her task, she met his eyes with a smile, clearly seeing his dawning comprehension. “She’s really careful with her name, so I’m not going to tell you. But, yes. Black Widow taught me a lot of what I know.”

“Shit,” he said again, because it bore repeating. He’d sparred with a pupil of one of the deadliest women on the planet. One of the deadliest _people_ on the planet. “How am I still alive?”

She laughed and patted his cheek. “Because I love you.”

“Okay.” He smiled at her, enjoying the unfreezing of his facial muscles. “That’s good. So, wait, better question. How is that Charlie asshole from class still alive?”

The last of the tension drained out of her as she laughed again, and he swooped in for a kiss.

 

_________

 

Kelly tugged on Jason’s hand as the plane slowed, pulling him away from the shelter of the waiting area. He wasn’t entirely sure they were supposed to be out on the tarmac, but nobody said anything. Possibly that was something that just happened when you were meeting Tony Stark’s private jet: no one told you no.

The plane had barely stopped when the door was levered open, and Kelly’s steps quickened. The man standing in the open doorway had his head turned, speaking to someone behind him, and even though Jason had _known_ he was going to meet Hawkeye, even though he’d looked up what limited information was available, actually seeing the famous profile was a little surreal. But then the archer turned forward again, waving with a wide grin, and suddenly Jason remembered that this was Clint. Just Kelly’s friend Clint, who happened to have a unique job, and who would probably appreciate it if that’s how Jason treated him.

But then, still grinning, Clint _jumped_ , and Jason barely had to time to turn shock into worry before the man landed with a clatter at the top of the mobile stairs that were still being pushed towards the plane. He trotted down the first couple of steps, hands on the rails at either side, then lifted his feet and let gravity take over, sliding the rest of the way.

“Showoff,” Kelly called to him, and she let go of Jason’s hand to take the last few steps and get swept up in a bear hug.

“Gotta keep sharp somehow.”

“Right. Because hours of training everyday, in the most technologically advanced gym ever, do nothing to keep your skills honed.”

“Tony added a parkour course, did I tell you? And some of the structures shake or fall when you’re on ‘em. It’s great.”

“No, you didn’t tell me, you jerk,” Kelly said, on her feet once more and socking him in the arm. “Since you’ve been avoiding me for months.”

“Shit, Kell,” Clint said, his smile gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to talk to you and not tell you. And you know I couldn’t tell you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kelly was unimpressed. “I’m still mad at—”

“Barton!”

The man coming down the stairs (that were now properly aligned with the plane’s exit) looked every bit the secret agent, from his well-tailored suit to his bad-ass sunglasses. He held a sleek black duffel bag in one hand, and some kind of hard-shell carrying case in the other. When Clint turned around, the man threw the case to him, and Jason got a clear view of his holstered weapon.

“Aw, sir,” Clint said, catching the case easily and cradling it to his body. “Treat her with respect.”

“I’m not the one who left her on the plane,” the man countered, and Jason honestly wasn’t sure if this was Phil or not, because he very much looked like he was on duty, and because Clint had called him “sir,” and, well, wouldn’t that be weird? But there was no one else, and as he stepped off the last stair, he took off his sunglasses and the transformation was incredible. His eyes held only amusement and warmth, and somehow conveyed a smile. Then he _actually_ smiled, first at Clint, then at Kelly, who moved forward to meet him.

 _Phil then_ , Jason thought as the agent calmly put his aviators in his breast pocket and set his bag on the ground. He was only just straightening his knees when Kelly swept a leg out and took them out from underneath him.

“Kelly!” Jason took a step forward, shocked and confused, but he was stopped by a strong grip on his arm.

“Let her,” Clint said, his voice low.

Jason looked from Clint back to Kelly, who now had Phil on his stomach with one arm trapped underneath him and one arm twisted and caught in her grip behind his back. Her knee was digging into his back, and while it wasn’t an impossible position to get out of, it wasn’t an easy one either. “But she—”

Clint shook his head. “She needs this. Anyway, if Phil wanted to get out of the hold, he could. Hell, he could have avoided it completely.” Upon Jason’s look, he raised his voice to carry and added, “She telegraphs.”

“I do not!”

“You still drop your left shoulder, babe.”

“No I don’t! I trained out of that habit.”

“It’s a fraction of an inch,” Phil said from his place on the ground, his voice calm despite his position. “Not many would notice.”

Kelly huffed and stood, reaching down to help Phil up before pulling him into a hug. “I missed you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I missed you too.”

Kelly stepped back while Phil brushed bits of tarmac from his suit then picked up his bag, and as they approached, Jason had the sudden and rare wish that his own clothes were a little nicer, that his car was a better model (or at least slightly cleaner), that Kelly’s ring was just a little bit bigger. But while Phil was clearly assessing him, he was also smiling, and looking Jason in the eyes, and his handshake was firm and warm. “Thanks for coming,” Jason finally managed. “I know this kind of thing probably isn’t exactly kosher with your employers.”

Phil’s lips twitched a little, the smallest measure of amusement that somehow indicated much more. “My employers owe me a lot of favors, Mr. Slaski. Especially after the last few years. And Kelly deserves whatever answers I can give her.”

Jason heard it, the implication that Kelly still wasn’t going to get the full story. He also wondered if it would be only Kelly who would get any of the story at all, and thought perhaps he shouldn’t have taken the afternoon off work after all, to give them time to talk. But he’d wanted to, to support her if nothing else, and she had seemed to want him there too. So he simply nodded and adjusted his posture. “Jason, please. No need to be so formal. Anyway, you’ve been ‘Phil’ in my head for a while now. I don’t think I’ve ever even been told your last name.”

There was another lip-twitch, accompanied by laughing eyes. “It’s Coulson. But Phil is fine.”

“Wow, first name privileges off the bat?” Clint asked, shifting so he was standing next to Phil and looking Jason over with a grin. “He must like you.”

“He doesn’t work for me or with me, Barton. There’s a difference.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “See? Even now, I’m still Barton sometimes. Where’s the love, sir?”

Jason couldn’t help but snort a small laugh at that, because what the hell. These two were something else. “Because ‘sir’ is a romantic nickname. No, really, I hear it’s catching on.”

Clint grinned, sharp and wicked, and opened his mouth, but Phil beat him to it. “Do not say what you’re about to say. Strive for dignity for once in your life, Clint.”

Kelly laughed while Clint pouted, faking a wounded expression, and Jason made a gesture with his hand, indicating the airport building and the parking lot beyond. “I was just going to point out that it depends on what _community_ you’re in,” Clint protested as they walked. Then added a cheeky, “Sir.”

“Intelligence?” Jason asked, because he was still stuck on the fact that he was talking to Hawkeye and a super spy.

Clint snickered. “Well, I was thinking more BDSM, but sure. Whatever floats your boat, Jason.”

Feeling a rush of embarrassment that he’d missed such an obvious innuendo, Jason shook his head as he held the door for them all. “Excuse me,” he mustered up with a laugh, “but of all of us here, I am the only one who _hasn’t_ dated someone in the intelligence community. So don’t go pointing fingers, bucko.”

“Heh. ‘Bucko.’” Clint pulled ahead, leading the way through the building and back outside again. He unerringly moved straight to Jason’s car, and that was something Jason did not want to look at too closely.

The lone bag went into the trunk, but Clint insisted on keeping his carrying case with him in the back, and soon enough they were settled and on their way. They spoke of nothing important, swapping idle talk all the way home, and it was only in the elevator to the apartment that anything related to their work came up.

“I’m just gonna,” Clint said as the door slid open, and pointed a thumb towards the ceiling.

Phil nodded and politely held the door for Kelly and Jason, then stepped out himself and let it go. Jason had just enough time to see Clint push another button, and then he was gone, the elevator sliding back into motion. “Where’s he going?”

“Checking the roof,” Phil said, as if it were an everyday occurrence. Which, hell, maybe it was. “He feels safer once he’s figured out a viable exit strategy.”

“Either that, or he just really wants to be able to climb down the fire escape or a drain pipe or something, and make an entrance,” Kelly suggested as she unlocked the door to the apartment.

“Or that,” Phil agreed mildly. “It’s pretty much a toss-up, with him.”

“Coffee?” Kelly offered once they were inside.

When Phil accepted, Jason put a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, and went to the kitchen to start it himself. “You still have it,” he heard Phil say, and when he looked, the man was standing in front of the Captain America poster, one finger pressed to the corner of the frame.

“Of course I still have it. Do you want it back?” There was no answer for a long moment, and Kelly nudged him with a gentle, “Phil?”

“Hm? Oh. No. Thank you. It’s yours now. Anyway, that would be a little odd, wouldn’t it?”

“Because he signed it? You’re still a good man, you know. Even if you are alive.”

Jason just barely heard the rueful chuckle. “Well, that too. I was thinking more that he lives two floors down from me.”

“You live in the tower now?”

“It was . . . suggested, when my last assignment ended, and the director thought it would be a good idea. None of the handlers or liaisons assigned to the Avengers ever managed to last very long. There seems to be a consensus that I might fare better.”

“Plus there’s Clint,” Kelly teased lightly.

Phil didn’t rise to the bait, simply saying, “Yes.”

“So what’s he like? The captain, I mean. Not Clint. I’m well aware what Clint’s like.”

“He’s pretty much as advertized, especially on the job. Then at home he’s just Steve. And Steve is kind of a really big, really earnest doof, with occasional moments of snark.”

“You just called Captain America a doof,” Kelly pointed out, with a bit of wonder in her tone.

“Well. I called Steve a doof. But yeah. He kind of is.”

“Sounds like he could be your best friend.”

“Excuse me,” Clint’s voice sounded from the hallway to their bedroom, and Jason did his best not to startle and drop the mugs he’d gotten from the cabinet. “But that position has been filled for a long time. Anyway Steve’s best friend is Tony.”

“Really?” Jason asked, now that the conversation had become less private. He wiped his hands on a towel and moved back to the living room. “Captain America’s best friend is Tony Stark? That’s . . . interesting.”

“Nah,” Clint said, flinging himself onto the couch. “Tony’s good at pretending for the public, and Steve’s not as old-fashioned as people expect. They got a lot more in common than you’d think.”

Phil settled into the armchair, and shot Jason a knowing little smile. “You can ask your questions,” he said, not unkindly. “Just be aware there will be some we’ll choose not to answer, either for security reasons or because the information isn’t ours to tell.”

Jason shrugged. He didn’t really have any questions. Not general ones about the Avengers, anyway. Kelly had told him a lot over the past few days, and he’d never really been one to pry. And it did seem like prying, especially now that they were “real people,” and not just faces in the news. “The only questions I have,” he said, his voice serious, “are about you. What happened, where you’ve been. Why it was necessary to cause Kelly grief.”

Clint squirmed a little, scowling, and Kelly took Jason’s hand, squeezing lightly. “He’s not wrong, Phil,” she said. “I mourned you. I know we had broken up, but I did still love you, you know. And later, I mourned you as a friend.”

Phil leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “I know. Please understand that there was not a deliberate intent to deceive. Certainly not on my part.”

“Yes there was.” Clint’s voice held an edge, and Jason looked over to him in surprise. He was staring right at Phil, still frowning. “There _was_ , Phil. Maybe not right away, maybe not entirely consciously, but you did make that decision. At some point you chose to toe the company line. You weren’t fully yourself when you were shipped off, but at some point you recovered. Eventually you had all the information, and all your memories, and you decided to stay hidden. _You_ decided, Phil. You need to own up to that.”

“Clint.” Phil straightened, looking at Clint, his expression carefully blank. There was one long, slow blink, then a deliberate exhalation, and the tension around his eyes softened. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. I had my reasons, some of which were good and some of which were . . . less than valid, though at the time I felt they were justified.” He rubbed one hand along the arm of the chair. “You know I never meant—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint said, flippant, but then his tone changed. “I know. I get it. But this isn’t about me right now. I’m used to the secrets and shit. Kelly isn’t. Not to this degree. So.” He waved a hand, indicating that Phil should get on with it.

Phil hesitated, clearing his throat. Kelly let go of Jason’s hand, squeezed his knee, and stood, reaching over to take Phil’s hand for a moment instead. “Collect your thoughts,” she said gently. “Jason and I will get the coffee. But you owe me an explanation, Phil, and I fully expect to get one.”

He nodded, and Kelly ushered Jason into the kitchen. It didn’t afford either couple a lot of privacy, but Jason carefully kept his eyes on his task, fixing Kelly’s coffee as well as his own, while she poured for their guests. They kept their movements slow and measured, dragging it out, allowing Phil and Clint some time to pull themselves together.

When they returned, Clint had moved. He was perched on the arm of Phil’s chair, one arm along the back, every line in his body indicating a casualness that was too deliberate to be real. He took his coffee with a smile, sitting up straight and dropping his hand to Phil’s shoulder.

Phil waited until everyone was settled, then took a breath, closed his eyes for just a moment, and started talking. He apologized first, for the lies and the grief, then told them that it hadn’t started out as a plot, that he had been stabbed, and technically killed, in the run-up to the Battle of New York. He spoke a little about how that had happened, and why, and how his death had been very, very real. He talked about his boss — his oldest friend — and the extreme measures he had taken to bring Phil back. He told them about extensive surgeries and brain modification, about lost memories and shifted priorities. His voice was steady and calm, at complete odds with the content of his narrative. There were obvious holes in the story, things he clearly couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about, and Jason was fairly sure there were other things that weren’t being said, topics and threads being talked around so neatly that no one would be able to ask after them, or even know for certain they existed. He carefully talked about the team he’d assembled, using neither names nor call signs, but rather specialties: biochemist and engineer, pilot and hacker. (Clint made a rude little noise at “sniper,” and Phil quirked an eyebrow at him in amusement.) He said that he’d found Clint—

(“Excuse me, who found who?”

“You were literally tied up, which isn’t exactly a position from which you can find anyone. I sent my team in to extract you.”

“While trying to hide your existence. _I’m_ the one that figured it out.”

Phil gave him a flat, unimpressed look.

Clint paused, then laughed. “You son of a bitch. Did you get tired of hiding?”

Phil hummed in reply, smiling faintly.)

—and that had started a domino effect that led to his re-entry into the land of the living. There were still some issues being worked out, of course, and a lot of classified information that needed declassifying before he’d just be able to walk around and introduce himself to people, but he was back in New York, visible to the people that mattered to him, and finally whole and hale. He apologized again, sincere and looking directly at Kelly, and then asked if either of them had any questions. “That I might actually be able to answer, of course,” he added with a small grin.

Jason didn’t say anything, mostly because he didn’t know _what_ to say. So much of Phil’s story sounded fantastical, a bizarre mix of spy thriller and science fiction. But he also knew, even if he could have thought of a question or two, that it wasn’t his place to ask. This explanation was for Kelly, and it was up to her how much clarity she needed, how much obfuscation she would tolerate.

“Your surgeries,” she said eventually. “They were . . . difficult? Painful?”

Phil leaned forward, placing his mug on the coffee table, and Jason saw Clint’s fingers dig into the meat of his shoulder. When he spoke, it was one raw word, hoarse and honest. “Yes.”

Kelly was up in an instant, at his side and pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry, Phil. I’m so incredibly sorry that happened to you. That you went through that.”

Instead of hugging her in return, Phil wrapped one hand around her forearm, holding on. “It was . . . Well, it sucked,” he admitted. “But I’m very glad I’m here now. That I got this second chance.”

“We all are,” she insisted fiercely.

“Damn straight,” Clint confirmed, and Phil released Kelly to take his hand instead.

“Well,” Kelly said, looking them over with her hands on her hips and a slight smile on her face. “I guess this just confirms the quote. ‘Death cannot stop true love.’” She focused expectantly on Clint, who grinned broadly.

“‘All it can do is delay it for a while,’” he added, and when Phil closed his eyes on a groan that was actually a laugh, Clint kissed his temple fondly.


End file.
